speak in German so she can’t understand us.”
“But her idea of abandoning the orchard makes no sense. I can’t work it by myself.”
“I…I don’t know anymore.” Rudolph shrugged. “Maybe she will change her mind.”
“I doubt it.”
By early autumn Jane had convinced Rudolph to move to Elmira, New York to be part of a church that believed as she did. When March 21, 1844 passed and Jesus did not return as had been predicted, several new dates were offered. The one most believed was October 22, 1844. On that day thousands of expectant believers at dozens of locations stood outside, many on hilltops, looking heavenward for their Savior. They became part of what came to be known as the Great Disappointment. Rudolph was disappointed enough to travel alone back to the orchard to see if his family, which now included a son, could return. By the time he reached it, it had been sold.
Andrea had died from influenza a year after entering the hospital in Boston. When Arnold had gone back to the orchard to see if Rudolph and Thomas wanted to buy it he found everything in disarray. Not wanting to be reminded of his loss of Andrea by the place of his happiest memories with her, Arnold quickly had sold it so that he could return to Boston. Thomas stayed on as a temporary caretaker and was due to vacate the land a week after Rudolph returned.
“I wish I had stayed.” Rudolph moaned. “Won’t you please come to Elmira with me? I need a friend there. All of my wife’s friends consider me an unbeliever because I don’t believe what they do. Most of them are already setting new dates for Jesus’ second coming. I can’t stand it anymore. I’m going crazy from listening to them.”
“I’m sorry. But I can’t listen to any more of it, either. They were wrong more than once. Why can’t they live a normal life?”
“I wish I knew.”
Instead of heading west with Rudolph Thomas turned southward to seek his fortune in New York City. Although populated by almost 400,000 people of Irish, English, Italian, Norwegian, Swedish, Dutch, French, Polish, Portuguese, Spanish, German, Russian, African, Chinese, and other heritages, New York in 1844 contained more animals than humans. Millions of rats infested the sewers, docks, alleys, and tenements, which made cats a practical choice as pets. Birds nested at will in trees, especially on Long Island, and atop buildings. Tens of thousands of horses hauled people and freight along every street. Thousands of pigs ate the garbage that littered Wall Street.
“They say it costs less than having men pick it up,” an acquaintance told Thomas.
He marveled at how each nationality had maintained an identity when its people congregated in neighborhoods where the businesses, restaurants, churches, fraternal organizations, and language or accent left little doubt as to the origins of its inhabitants. Each neighborhood also had gangs, almost all of them based on ethnicity. They guarded their turf with such a vengeance that Thomas did not venture far from his neighborhood after dark. He missed the tranquility that had been his in Bavaria where he had wandered freely, day or night.
Klein Deutschland or “Little Germany” along the East River became Thomas’ home. It reminded him enough of his homeland to keep him from returning to Bavaria. This was providential when the German Confederation eventually had its revolution in 1848 during which thousands died. That revolution ended his remaining desire to return to Bavaria. He feared that more strife would erupt there. Even then none of Thomas’ family accepted his ongoing invitation to join him in New York. Gradually the letters to and from them tapered away.
It took him quite a while to grasp the political structure that ruled the city. The politics of New York were explained this way to Thomas: “Tammany is a fraternal organization that gets the immigrants work, housing, and helps them become citizens. Then they vote for all the politicians Tammany wants elected. You know – scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”
“Ah, kratzen Sie meinen Rücken.” Thomas repeated the phrase in German. He began to understand that human nature varied little from country to country, especially in regard to gaining and keeping power.
When he found the grocery store that his benefactor of the German to English dictionary had spoken of during his voyage to America, Thomas discovered that the kind old man had died. A boastful Prussian who now owned the market hired him based on a qualification of which he often reminded Thomas. This only humiliated the new employee.
“I only hired you because you can speak Low German, which most of my customers know. They are too ignorant to speak High German, as we Prussians do.”
After four years of such insults, Thomas grew bored with supplying customers with the fruits, vegetables, sausages, hams, wursts, beers, wines, and baked goods that they craved. Attending one of PT Barnum’s shows only heightened his longing for adventure as Thomas gaped at the exotic animals, freakish humans, and other wonders. One was Mr. Hales, eight feet tall and 500 pounds. Another was Major Little Finger, billed as “much smaller than Tom Thumb.” An even deeper need for adventure replaced his once insatiable thirst for beer.
In December 1848 during his noon meal while at work, he read of something that seemed to promise what he desired. At home that evening he read the newspaper story to his wife of two years: “The perilous stuff lies loose upon the surface of the ground, or only slightly adheres to rocks and sand. The only machinery necessary in the new gold mines of California is a stout pair of arms, a shovel and tin pan. Indeed, many, unable even to obtain these utensils, are fair to show up with a shingle or a bit of board and dig away quietly in peace of mind, pocketing their fifty or sixty dollars a day and having plenty of leisure.”
Descended from English stock, Harriet had learned painfully that Germans such as Thomas could be even more stubborn than her fellow British. She tried to smile. But fear gripped her. She had seen such looks in other husbands’ eyes right before they abandoned wife, children, and friends for similar misguided promises of adventure. The wives’ ensuing grief had been difficult for Harriet to bear.
“You know they exaggerate to sell papers. Don’t believe it.”
When Thomas grumbled about currently making only $30 a month instead of $60 a day she thought that was the end of the matter. It was resurrected in an unexpected way. The couple attended a Methodist church, a compromise between Harriet’s Anglican and Thomas’ Lutheran upbringings. Unfortunately for Harriet their pastor had latched onto Manifest Destiny, a doctrine popular from the White House to the pulpit to the street corner to the workplace to the saloon. Thomas’s fate was sealed by the sermon a few Sundays later.
The pastor’s voice rose from a whisper until he thundered: “The Lord Himself has kept the gold from the Mexicans and their church in Rome. They already have enough treasures that they plundered from the Indians. Now it’s time for the common man to succeed as our nation expands to the mighty Pacific Ocean. It’s time for them to take the gold that awaits them in California. It’s progress. It’s our destiny. Spain took California from the Indians, and then Mexico took it away from Spain. And now President Polk and our armies have taken it from Mexico! And remember that it was the President himself who said the stories from California are to be believed because genuine reports about the strike from public officers have been sent directly to him. Perhaps the gold there will even exceed that gathered by King Solomon himself from the mines of Ophir!” The reverend drenched two handkerchiefs with sweat that morning instead of his usual one.
Thomas shook the pastor’s hand especially hard at the church’s door after the service. “Thank you, pastor. Thank you. You are an answer to prayer. Your words have inspired me. Now I’m sure I should go to California. I believe that the Lord spoke to me through you this morning.”
“Uhhh…” He had meant his sermon in only a general way, with no intent of losing members who took it too seriously. “But Thomas, I don’t think you should…” He gazed mournfully at Harriet. She glowered back at him. That morning was the first time that Harriet did not shake his extended hand.
Thomas was oblivious to th
e turmoil between the reverend and Harriet. “When I return I will have enough money to help you build the big new church you always talk of.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” From long, bitter experience the old pastor knew that it was useless trying to dissuade any who made plans that included the work of the Lord.
Thomas summarized those plans over his favorite Sunday dinner of Sauerkraut, Snitzel, and Pom Frittes or as Harriet called it: sour cabbage, breaded pork, and fried potatoes. His calculations were that it would take only five or six weeks total by steamship to Central America, then overland to the Pacific Ocean, and finally on to San Francisco by one of the many ships that stopped at the ports on the west side of Central America. He calculated that to travel the 4,000 or more miles by the circuitous overland route would take far longer.
“From what I’ve heard, it’s at least five months to travel from Missouri to California, sometimes even longer. And it’s probably at least two weeks for me to get from here to Missouri. The worst part is that the wagon trains don’t leave until late April or May so the soonest I would be in California would be October. I can’t wait that long.”
“If you got there at all. I won’t let you go by land. The Indians or disease